


Colour Me... White

by Pigeon



Series: Colour Me... [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternative Universe - Industrial Revolution, Alternative Universe - Not a Pirate, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's world is nothing but white.  Jack is pure colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VeronicaRich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/gifts).



Will’s world is an endless repetition of the same drab colours. From the white of the mill, with its choking clouds of whirling cotton, to the unremitting greys and browns of the city, all smoke and sludge, dirt and grime. And the days are long, tedious, and hard- awake before dawn, trudging up the hill with the rest of the masses to the cotton mill and the long banks of machines that cleanse and spin and weave. Back after dark, still coughing up thick spittles of white thread, to sleep on the hard cold floor before the hearth.

And his Mum says that this is simply what is now. The past is gone.

And Will knows what she means is his father, his father is gone.

But he’s seventeen and it’s high time he earned their living, and paid the rent, and put food on the table, and took his place as a man.

And he truly is grateful to Mr. Norrington, who gave him a job and home despite all, and understands why they struggle to pay the rent with all the creditors knocking on the door, and never mentions their past or what once was.

He’ll even stop and pass the time of day with Will on the mill floor on occasion. And Will sometimes thinks, with just the slightest wry smile, that this good, honest, upstanding man is the nearest thing to a friend he’s ever had.

Certainly the other workers don’t take to him. They’re all coarse language and whispers behind his back. They don’t know all of it, the truth of it, but they know something.

So, as Will, all bone deep aches and gnawing hunger in his belly, draws close to the small terrace they rent, still coughing and spluttering, he doesn’t expect to hear voices coming from the kitchen, or see the shadow of a man at the window.

“Mum?” He pushes the door wide, blinking into the circle of light thrown out by the lantern. “All right?”

His mum smoothes back her hair and sends him a small, tight-lipped smile. “It’s alright, dear, our visitor was just leaving.” She steps closer to him, brushing idly at the dirt on her pinny, before plucking at the tufts of white sticking to his jerkin. “I’ll have your supper ready in just a moment.”

The visitor, the man, hasn’t moved since Will’s entrance, standing silently just beyond the reach of the light. “You must be little William,” his voice isn’t quite what Will expects, there’s amusement and warmth all laced with a hint of a threat. There’s something about it, some quality hidden beneath the tone that sends a bright dancing shiver down Will’s back. “Your Da’s told me all about you, lad.”

“Da?” Will takes a step forward, not feeling his mother’s hands clutching at him, trying to pull him back next to her. “Have you seen him? Is he coming home? Where has he been?” The questions can’t trip off his tongue quick enough. “Does he know what’s happened? We didn’t want to leave without sending word it’s just…” He trails off. He still cannot make out the man properly, and his mother is clawing at his arm hard enough to bruise.

“Will!” Her voice is sharp, the way the remembers it sounding when he used to ask after Da back then, back when they still expected him to come home, and later when things turned bad. “No more.” She turns to face the man, “I told you to leave. I expect you to do so now.”

“Now, Aggie, that’s no way to treat an old friend…”

“Old friend my eye!” He’s never heard his mum sound quite so angry, quite so fierce. When he was little, very little, and still sat on his father’s knee and believed all sorts of nonsense about fairies and sprites, she’d sounded different, warm and gentle like. And she’d told him tales of make believe. And things weren’t as they are now. “You’re a blackguard, a scoundrel, and a cad Jack Sparrow, and I won’t have you in my house a moment longer. You’ve said what you came to say, now go!”

The man, Jack Sparrow, makes a low noise, like a sigh, but somehow not. Will can’t quite place the sound, and certainly doesn’t know why he feels its twin, its echo, catching in his own throat.

Outside, the last of the workforce from the mill make their way past, the air filled with catcalls and rough laughter.

“You weren’t always pure as the driven yourself, Aggie-luv.” Sparrow pauses for a long moment, then adds gently, “Though you always did have a good heart.”

“You mean I was a soft touch.”

“You? Not a bit of it.” In the dim shadows Sparrow is still standing in, Will can’t make out his expression, can barely see his face at all. “We all lived in terror of you. Sharpest tongue in the Shire, darlin’.”

“Well!” Will watches the slightest red blush creep into his mother’s cheeks. A glow he doubts he’s seen for the last five years, since her hair was still golden, and dimples showed when she smiled. “You was all idiots. Especially you, Jack, I swear you were dropped on your head as a babe.”

“Maybe so. Certainly seemed to be Bill’s opinion a time or two.” There’s a short space, and then Sparrow’s voice is coming low and pure, “He never meant to hurt ye. The pair of yer.”

“Meant and did being very different creatures.”

“Aye, luv, I guess you’re right about that.”

She takes a deep breath. “You’ll leave before dawn. Understand?”

“Right you are, Aggie.”

“Mum?” Will looks between the two. He’s not sure if he’s waiting for an introduction, an explanation, or an instruction to throw this strange man out of their house. “What…?”

“It’s alright, mate.” It’s Sparrow that answers, stepping forward and into the light, giving Will his first real look at him. He’s a bright mismatch of fine fabrics and jewels- and, oh, the blue of his cravat, and the red of his pocket-handkerchief, and green topcoat, all laced with gold; rings, pin, and watch chain. “Your Mum and me are old ‘quaintances. And I’ll be intruding on your very generous and kind ‘ospitality for the night.”

“You can kip on the hearth with Will, we’ve no space elsewhere.” Aggie runs a hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. She glances at them and sighs, “Right, well, sit yourselves down then, dinner will be cold as it is.”

Will eats slowly and without appetite. Jack is so very… very vivid. He’s all sorts of colours Will hasn’t seen in at least a year, and the jewellery he wears glints and shines and catches the eye mercilessly. It’s impossible to not just stare.

It’s impossible to not just try and absorb all the glow and life coming from the man.

“Well, if you’re both done?” Aggie doesn’t wait for a reply, instead snatching up their plates, and scrubbing them quickly and efficiently. She sets out a jug and ewer, and presses a quick, dry kiss to Will’s cheek. “Sleep well, dear. And Jack? Be gone before daybreak.”

“Of course, darlin’. Gave my word.”

At this she rolls her eyes, but makes her way to the one room upstairs regardless.

Will swallows back a yawn. His bones feel weary, but his mind is still whirling, and his eyes can’t seem to stop sliding over to Jack.

“Well, mate,” Jack leans back in his chair, kicking up his heels onto the table. “Now, your Mum’s gone off to bed, p’rhaps me and you should have a chat. Man to man as it were.”

“Oh?” Will frowns, just a little, and tenses for bad news. “Do we have something specific to discuss?”

“Well, money for one thing.”

Will forces his eyes from Jack’s face, with its quirked mouth and dark eyes, and instead focuses on the long black leather boots that are moulded around Jack’s legs and reach his knees. “Right. Of course.” He clears his throat quickly. “How much does he owe you?” Will stands and brushes his hair from his eyes. “We’ve no ready cash, I’m afraid. I can’t…” He takes a quick breath that catches somewhat in his chest. A sharp sensation claws at his side, just below his ribcage. “I can’t repay you straight away. But if you’ll give me time…”

“Not, quite what I meant, William.”

“Best I can do. Really.” There’s a jagged little tickle forming in his throat. “I just need time.” He knows what this feels like. Knows what comes next. He tries to take a deep breath, something to stop his head from spinning, but feels not the least surprise to feel it hit a solid block in his lungs. “Some time…”

He gasps, bending forward, one hand groping for the table.

Dimly he hears Jack swear.

Then it’s just coughing.

Thick, violent coughing. All his internal organs feeling like they’re trying to rise out of his chest and up his throat.

And there are black spots before his eyes and a fierce roaring in his ears.

And there’s simply no air left.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack swears as the boy spasms with the blows of the cough. The hand gripping the table tightens, the body bowing with pressure, and then, inelegantly, the boy collapses, pale and bloodless and white.

It’s a simple thing to catch him though, one step forward and his arms are full, young William a dead weight, all too-laboured breaths and sweat soaked skin.

“Hey!” He shakes the weight a little, trying to jiggle some life into him. “Come on! Wake up, lad.” The boy gives the slightest murmur, a frown marring his brow slightly. “That’s it, darlin’, wake up, before your Mum comes down and thinks I’m trying to have me way with you.”

The boy hiccups, then opens bleary eyes.

His eyes are not the light brown of his Da’s.

Nor the blue of his Mum’s.

Rather they are a deeper, darker colour.

Jack has always had a certain appreciation for beauty. He’s made it his business to travel and gaze and view. He’s seen frescos and visited the great houses. He’s even known a painter or two in his time.

And, of course, he’s taken the time to watch and observe and partake of all the young beautiful creatures he’s come across. The elegant Marie, a Parisian actress. Joe, a simple labourer with thick blond curls. Carlo, with his smooth skin and wicked smile.

And this boy…

He’s not the most beautiful or striking, Jack decides. There certainly is no refined grace or poetry about his form.

But there is something…

Something in the pallor of his face, in the dark of his eyes…

And then the boy blinks.

And Jack has to tighten his hold as the boy struggles to get away.

“Christ, stop it would you. Damn it, lad, stay still long enough to catch your breath.” But the boy, exhausted and no more than a stripling as he is, twists and fights and shoves himself away.

“I’m fine,” he gasps.

“Oh yeah? Tell us another one.” Jack resumes his seat at the crooked little table. The boy is swaying, colourless, but upright. “Nasty little cough you’ve got there, William.”

“I’m fine,” the boy repeats.

“How long you been like that?”

The boy glares at him. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he bites out each word slowly.

“Of course,” Jack smiles slowly, letting all his teeth show, knowing the boy will pick out the sharp glint of gold in his mouth. “Nothing wrong with you at all, mate.” He sweeps a hand back through his hair. “So you’s won’t mind me mentioning this little… _episode_ … to your mother, will you.”

And suddenly the boy is closer, and there’s the slightest hint of colour returning to his cheeks. “Don’t… I’m fine, really. You cannot say anything to her.” And the touch of venom in William’s voice is far more Aggie than Bill. But the swirl of emotions in his eyes is no one but himself. “She will only worry. She doesn’t need to worry.”

“Alright… But you really should see a doctor, mate.”

The boy gives a rough short laugh. “And pay him with what?” He scrubs at his face. “Doctors ain’t free.” He sits next to Jack, and Jack swears he can feel all the fight just drain out of the boy.

“Your Da left you in a right fix, didn’t he?” There’s an itch in Jack’s palm. He wants to pat the lad on the shoulder, draw him near, have the boy… what? Turn to him? Lean on him? Ask him for a bit of warmth and comfort? Jack shakes his head and draws out a little flask from the pocket of his coat.

“A nip to keep out the cold, William?”

The boy raises an eyebrow but gives a small smile and draws the flask to his mouth, taking a sip. His eyes fall shut as the liquid flows smooth and fiery down his throat.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He glances at Jack for a long drawn out moment, then stares over to the dying fire. “You wanted to talk about money,” he says softly.

Jack takes a hefty gulp from his little flask. “We can talk over pounds and shillings come morning.”

“Right,” the boy nods, face still firmly turned away.

Jack doesn’t find the dirt and soot of the room distasteful, but it does surprise him. Aggie had always been a fierce housekeeper, and whilst he admits it’s been a long eighteen years since he last saw her, belly round and heavy with child, he’d rather expected judgement day to dawn before Aggie changed.

But this is not the homely little farmhouse he visited back then, with its two maids and well-stocked larder.

This is a two-room hovel, with the thinnest gruel for supper, and rats in the corners.

The fire is almost dead, and what little warmth the kitchen held is seeping away. Jack watches as the boy unfolds himself, clambering slowly to his feet. William pours a splash of water into a bowl, dashing it, in fast and jerky little motions, over his face. He then drags his shirt, stained and threadbare, off over his head.

There’s a couple dark bruises that interrupt the white span of the boy’s back.

And each rib is quite visible.

And Jack cannot quite tear his eyes away.

The boy yawns. He stretches out his arms, and Jack watches all the lean muscles in his back flex and tighten.

And then there is nothing but white cotton as the boy tugs on an old nightshirt that drops to a good five inches above his knees.

The boy turns back to face Jack, and Jack bites back a smile at the touch of pink that graces his face.

The nightshirt is clearly too small for him.

The lace is taunt and beginning to give way where it’s pulled across his chest, and as he shucks off his trousers and shoes, the sound of a seam popping is loud in the quiet off the room.

“All set for bed then, luv?”

The boy nods, then pulls the tie from his hair, eyes fixed to the floor.

Jack, for his part, pulls off his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat. His own clothes fit perfectly, the materials rich and sumptuous. Each comes from some fine tailor in London, and he doubts if William earns in a month the cost of his pocket-handkerchief. He piles up his watch and rings and pin, a little stack of gold, on the table. Then sheds his boots, stockings and breeches. Lastly off comes his collar and cuffs. He stands in just his shirt and nods his head at William and smiles, “Forgot me own nightshirt.”

“Right… yes…” William takes a breath then throws a blanket down on the hearth. “This will have to do, I’m afraid…” his voice tails off.

“Will do me fine, mate.” Jack scrambles down, managing not to swear at the chill that has crept through the thin woollen blanket and bites into his legs. “Going to join me?” he raises an eyebrow, smirking just a little.

The boy frowns but extinguishes the lantern and slowly lowers himself to lie next to Jack. He tugs the far end of the blanket, so it just about covers them both.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he slides a little closer to Jack. “Don’t normally have to share.”

“Not at all, luv.” The boy is a welcome bit of warmth pressed against his side. “Get as close as you like.” For his own part his slings an arm, quick and casual, over William’s chest. Beneath his hand the lace scratches, best quality once, but long since tired and worn. Beneath the lace is fierce heat and hard, pale flesh.

The boy stirs restlessly.

“Comfy?”

“Fine, thank you,” The lad is lying somewhat stiffly, and Jack takes a moment to wonder exactly how sheltered his upbringing must have been for him to have never shared a bed, no matter how innocently.

Overhead, the sounds of Aggie’s footsteps pacing the floor can be heard.

“My father...” the boy starts.

“Yes, mate?”

William sighs. “Is he well?”

“Well enough,” Jack prevaricates. He hasn’t the heart to tell this pale boy of all the latest doings with his father.

“Right.” Jack imagines William, though it is impossible to see him, to make out his features, shutting his eyes, trying to accept this unenlightening answer, trying to have it be enough. “Good.”

Jack swallows back a number of reassurances and downright lies. He squeezes the lad’s arm slightly. “Won’t always be like this,” he whispers, this breath puffing out soft against the boy’s neck. “Promise you, William, it will get better.”

The boy is silent for a long moment, then turns his head so his lips must be, have to be, but fractions from Jack’s own. “I don’t need to be told fairy tales. Things are as they are.”

“William…”

“This is what is now.”

Jack sighs. “Your Da…”

“Is not here. And you haven’t spoken about him returning, have you?”

“No,” Jack admits.

“Then there is nothing to be done.”

Jack tries to see the boy’s face in the darkness, but cannot make out anything. He lets his eyes fall shut and waits for sleep to claim either himself or William.

The very last of the heat from the fire dies away and the lad shifts even closer, until, inevitably, their legs are tangled and they leach warmth from each other. Time rolls on and Jack thinks William must surely be asleep before he hears, “What do you do?” in a voice heavy and low and drowsy.

“I’m what you might call a gentleman thief without so much of the gentleman.”

“Ah,” the boy has a hand resting in the centre of his back, and he moves it slowly with unconscious motions. “Da was much the same wasn’t he?”

“More or less, William.”

“No one calls me that,” Jack has to strain to hear him, voice almost lost to slumber. “I’m just Will.”

Jack listens as the boy’s breaths even out, deepening as his body relaxes fully against Jack’s. “Good night, Will,” he whispers and presses forward to leave a soft kiss on his lips.


End file.
